


thirteen

by r0b0juice



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Angst, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Blood, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Home Invasion, Hurt No Comfort, Lasers, Misunderstandings, Murder, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Robots, Sad Ending, Snow, Unhappy Ending, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0b0juice/pseuds/r0b0juice
Summary: it was all your fault, wasn't it, kiibo?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> an au written for a discord roleplay. please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed. ^-^

It had been two hours ever since the professor had left the house that morning, his familiar smile poking through the crack in the door just before he left as he assured him that he would only be thirty minutes at most, that he was just running to the store to pick up a ‘last minute surprise’. Two hours ever since Kiibo had been sitting at the kitchen counter as his chest seemed to internally rattle with budding anxiety, gently swinging his legs back and forth in his chair as he played with the tablecloth, listening to the gentle sound of snow pittering against the windows (a rather unusual occurrence for October, he couldn’t help noting) and silently reassuring himself that his father would be back soon, and that there was nothing to be scared of. And two hours ever since Kiibo had heard noises at the back door and hid behind the couch, tiny body uncomfortably cramped into the tiny space as he silently begged for the silent intruder to spare him his life.

Kiibo was turning thirteen years old that day. From the slight knowledge of urban legends he’d been able to pick up from his days in the professor’s office looking at various articles on his work computer, the number ‘thirteen’ was supposedly bad luck, leading the little robot to become somewhat frightened upon the arrival of the day, running up to his father in a panic that morning and asking if it were true. Of course, in that way that he somehow always managed to quell each one of his worries no matter how big or how small it seemed to be, the professor had simply ruffled the cloud of ridiculously poofy white hair utop his head with a soft laugh, telling him that turning thirteen was indeed a good thing after all.  _ “You’re growing older… you’re not going to be a little child anymore. Soon you’ll be an adult, just like I am. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”  _

And of course, that had been the most exciting thought in the world for Kiibo. From the very moment he had been created, he’d had a fascination with his father that was only possible for a child to have, constantly proclaiming that he would be just like the professor once he was older. He wasn’t  _ exactly  _ sure what Iidabashi did for a living… but that didn’t stop him from dreaming. He would follow the professor around like a puppy, watching everything that he did and sometimes mimicking it as best he could. If his father picked up a newspaper and began to read, Kiibo would instantly follow, picking up one of the engineering magazines from the coffee table and copying his action. If he was sweeping an area in his office, Kiibo would ‘help’ by clinging to the broom with all four limbs, even though this meant that the broom was now unusable with all of his weight on the end of it. Whatever the professor did and wherever he went in the house, Kiibo was sure to follow. If he was truly to be just like his father, then he would have to do everything that  _ he _ did, correct?

With this newfound knowledge, knowing that his birthday would be the start of his ‘adult-en-ing’, as he referred to it, Kiibo found himself to be much more eager about the whole situation. And in fact, it had been a perfect day so far, hadn’t it? Especially after the present he’d received from the professor… a laser gun that he’d burst into tears of joy upon receiving. It was clear from the serious tone in Iidabshi’s voice that it was a dangerous gift, especially from the way he emphasized the lethality of the weapon. Just to demonstrate, he’d taken Kiibo out to the backyard, asking him to fire the gun at a sheet draped over the clothesline. The robot had instantly complied, taking off the safety lock on the weapon as he squinted at the fabric flapping in the wind, his arm trembling just the slightest bit from the added weight on the end of his wrist, cerulean eyes dilating in pure focus and concentration…

The blowback from the beam emerging from the weapon had knocked Kiibo onto his backside almost instantly, sitting in disbelief on the grass at the gaping, sizzling hole that was not only in the sheet, but also in the fence several feet behind it. He’d abandoned the weapon on the ground in fear in an instant, diving behind the professor’s legs and curling up in a tiny ball with both hands balled up in his hair in pure fear. Had  _ he _ done that? What if he’d aimed wrong? What if he’d hit something or someone else instead? What if, what if, what if?...

And then he was being picked up, a fearful whimper emerging from him as he buried his face against the professor’s warm chest, clinging to the somewhat scratchy fabric of his shirtfront and shaking his head back and forth as he tried not to begin sobbing in worry. That horrible hitching panic in his chest, which had continued to linger from the moment he’d fallen over onto the frosted grass, gradually began to subside as Iidabashi’s familiar fingers raked through his hair and gently rubbed soft circles over his scalp, his sniffling dying down and being replaced with the purr-like humming of his motors that always tended to act up whenever he was happy. 

“ _ See? It’s dangerous… that’s why I want you to be extra careful.”  _ Soft yet calloused fingers worked their way through the cloud of fluff on Kiibo’s head, working the silky strands back and forth and twisting them gently. “ _ I trust you with this… but you’re only to use it in emergencies, do you understand?” _ Kiibo had never agreed to do something so quickly in his life. He wanted absolutely  **nothing** to do with that gun, that horrible blinding blue beam that he’d caused so much damage with. He just wanted to go back inside… to put the weapon away, and to watch his favorite movies with his father on his special day.

So there the gun had sat, in its usual spot upon the professor’s work table, as Kiibo colored in a picture at the table in an attempt to distract himself from the swelling anxiety in his stomach. It wasn’t a picture of anything specific… just swirls and scribbles of purple and green crayon on a sheet of notebook paper. Of course, he figured if he tried to draw anything more complicated, the nervous swirling of his stomach would make it impossible for him to complete it. The snow was collecting on the windowsills at a faster rate now… normally, the sight of snow would cause Kiibo to leap from his seat and frantically point at the window, excitedly begging the professor to let him go outside and play in the cold white dust for a while. But there was no professor here to beg, and thus Kiibo remained at the table, the dark green crayon shaking slightly in between his metal fingers.

...there was someone at the back door.

The professor  _ never _ came home through the back door.

Kiibo froze where he sat, metal fingers instantly tensing up around the crayon in his hands hard enough to instantly snap it, antennae pricking upwards in a gesture that would have been comical if the absolutely terrified expression on his face was absent. He couldn’t even glance over his shoulder in the general direction of the back door, his back growing stiff as his wide eyes remained firmly fixed upon the table. This was not normal. Something was dreadfully wrong. He knew it. 

The snapped crayon fell from his palm as Kiibo darted down the hall, stumbling into the professor’s lab and trying to fight back the burning hot fear bubbling in his throat as his eyes zipped quickly around the room. There it was-- the gun, sitting atop the work table where it had been left that morning. He hurried over and grabbed it in an instant, his wrist still not used to the unusual weight and beginning to tremble from the effort of trying to hold up the massive object. It was so heavy, in fact, that his footsteps were slightly lopsided as he carefully made his way back down the hall, his entire body beginning to tremble and shudder from the overwhelming terror tightening like a noose around his throat. 

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen… the professor wasn’t supposed to be out shopping still, Kiibo wasn’t supposed to be about to curl up on the floor and sob in fear, and there  _ certainly _ wasn’t supposed to be someone fumbling with the back door… which Kiibo realized, in a deeper fit of panic, was always unlocked, given the professor’s insistence that it was a safe neighborhood and that nothing bad could possibly happen. Well… that was clearly not the case now.

Kiibo found himself cramming his bulky metal body behind the narrow space between the couch and the wall, biting his bottom lip to the point of pain in a desperate attempt to choke back his terrified tears, watering eyes focused on the entrance of the living room as he heard the back door squeaking open on its hinges. His chest was horribly, painfully tight, squeezing and tensing, his breath shuddering and compressing like a trash compactor, trying so hard to not make a single sound as his body began to ache from being crammed into the ridiculously tiny spot. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not at all.. The professor should be home, the back door should be locked, the intruder shouldn’t be inside the house and growing closer and closer to where the robot was hiding, silently praying for his life…

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t just sit here, delaying his inevitable demise as the mysterious intruder grew closer to the couch, holding something to defend himself but doing absolutely nothing about it. But he didn’t  _ want _ to hurt another human being… he wasn’t supposed to hurt humans. But was this a situation in which he could make an exception? What if--

The intruder’s foot was right by him.

And Kiibo fired.

He didn’t even think about the action. It was a scarily quick instinct, one that he shouldn’t have even been possessing, one that was purely a result of sheer, uncontrollable terror. He’d fired the gun the instant he lifted it, not even looking where he was firing-- squeezing the trigger and blindly shooting the blinding blue beam once into the air, the blowback knocking him over with a startled squeal. He kept his eyes squeezed shut for a few moments, terrified to even look up and risk seeing the damage he’d caused. Still keeping the smoking gun in his hand, his gaze shifted upward, just to see exactly what he’d done… and froze.

Something wasn’t right.

There was Kiibo, still tucked partially behind the couch.

There was the gun in his hand, still smoking.

And there was the professor standing before him as his body began to tip backwards, with a gift-wrapped box in his hands and a smoking hole in his forehead.

His body tipped all the way, limp body slamming against the floor.

There was a horrid crunch as his skull hit the carpet, blood soaking into the off-white material.

And Kiibo began to scream.


End file.
